


Learning to Be

by orphan_account



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angry Frank Iero, Angst, Betrayal, Blackmail, Blood, Brother Feels, Brotherly Affection, Catholicism, Coming Out, Cults, Dissociation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everybody Lives, Everyone Is Gay, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fights, First Kiss, Fluff, Found Family, Frank is small and full of rage, Friendship, Funny, Gabe Saporta is a drug dealer, Getting Together, Ghosts, Gore, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, He/They Gerard Way, Healthy Jealousy, Homophobic Language, Hospitalization, Human Disaster Frank Iero, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, Interrogation, Knife fighting, Knives, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mental Illness, Mikey is a vent gremlin, Misunderstandings, Murder, Murder Mystery, Mutilation, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Verbal Abuse, Past physical abuse, Platonic Affection, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Gerard Way, Protective Mikey Way, Protective Ray Toro, Psychological Trauma, Ray is an agent of chaos, Religious Discussion, Religious Guilt, Rituals, Scars, Sick Frank Iero, Smut, Stalking, Suspense, Toxic Masculinity, Traumatized Frank Iero, Violence, and they were ROOMMATES, mlm authors, past original character death, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "If he wanted it enough, does that mean he could start to feel the press of fingertips into the back of his hand? If he looked long enough would he be able to will into existence the warmth of the grasp, the casual affection and intimacy of such a gesture? The confidence and pride?"Summary: Frank is a freshman in college and moves into an apartment building. Through fake hauntings and learning to trust he finds himself a family. Yet there's also a darker story to be told, one of murder and betrayal. Will the four of them be able to stick together through it all?Note: I know the tags look VERY intense but I promise the story is overall meant to be one of platonic affection, trust, and love. Each individual chapter will have specific warnings in the notes, so please be careful. Enjoy!(Co-created with @living_ona_star on Twitter)
Relationships: Frank Iero & Gerard Way, Frank Iero/Mikey Way, Ray Toro & Mikey Way
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Trigger Warnings: Homophobic language (Frank's dad will say a slur), bad father, implied child abuse, mentions of death, and knives.
> 
> Hello! I haven't written in years so I hope this is enjoyable. I just really wanted to put a dramatic story out there that also just centered around platonic affection and learning to love and trust. I need to thank my betas, @living_ona_star and @tiniestlesbean on twitter, they corrected my many horrific grammar mistakes so please show them love if you enjoy this story. Let's get started!

Staring at the building that is supposed to be his home for the next year, Frank takes a deep breath and releases it slowly as his eyes trace the curving edges of the awning. He knew, in theory, the idea of a home; a place where you felt safe and like you belonged. Home, to him, was something different though; stolen moments to himself away from the harsh words of his father and memories of the smell of cookies in the oven on the rare days that his mom smiled. He could still remember one particular afternoon when she had smeared dough onto his nose and he had squealed- she had laughed bright and loudly, her wide smile in that moment now etched into his brain. The memory of that sound kept him trying for years to hear her laugh just one more time.

Shaking his head to bring himself back to the present, Frank turning and looking to his father stepping out of the car. Today is a bad day, his shoulders tense and the lines around his eyes angry. It was the type of day that he needed to agree with everything his father said. Not that it would matter soon anyways; within a few measly hours he would finally be in his own place, finally be able to relax in a space that was only meant for him. The more he went along with his father today, the faster he’d be gone: the start of a few glorious months where he won’t have to worry about listening to footsteps and modifying himself to fit into the cookie-cutter of his father’s expectations.

His father began walking towards the building without looking back at Frank, his creased and stained button-down twisting as he marched up the crumbling steps and threw open the wide glass doors to the lobby. Frank leaning down to grip the handle on his suitcase and hoisting the duffel on his shoulder just a bit higher before following after him. The doors looked dirty and the awning stained, but he thought that the place had a certain sense of charm, like it knew and owned the way it looked slightly abandoned.

Stepping into the lobby of his new building for the first time, he is filled with an overwhelming emotion. Pride but also sadness, with a euphoric sense of freedom that makes him grin without realizing it until he catches a glance of himself in the mirror. Mirrors line the whole lobby and it gives him a sense of being watched, like with each angle- the building could see deeper into his soul. The mirrors were lined with a golden metal that almost gave the appearance of twisting in the shadows formed by the overhead light flickering. The reception desk is empty but it doesn't matter because the landlord had left the keys for them in a dropbox that they had already picked up. The desk is old and worn, but holds the same charm as the exterior with a vintage style and faded yet beautiful accents detailing the corners.

As his father is waiting for the elevator doors to open, Frank is so distracted with taking in the fascinating lobby that he barely registers when two men walk in. They brush past him as the elevator doors chime. His father steps inside and Frank is beginning to move when one of them, a guy with bright eyes and beautiful curly hair, turns to look at him.

“You coming?” he asks with a warm smile. Frank is distracted momentarily by the other guy that is standing beside him, looking at him with curiosity in his eyes. He has a beanie on and glasses over his hair, a strange look that for some reason was incredibly charming. Frank snaps back into focus and nods, the three of them walking over to the elevator and jumping in just as the doors began to close.

Frank looks to his father to gauge his mood and sees disgust curling at the edges of his mouth. For a moment he wonders what could have caused his father to react in such a way in the short space between the parking lot and the elevator, but when he glances down and his heart stops.

The two men are holding hands. Less than a foot away from his father. Frank had nodded at two men holding hands. His father had seen him nod at two men that were holding hands.

His heart beats rapidly in his chest as question after question flies through his mind. Does his father suspect he’s gay now? What is he going to say? How could he explain that he didn’t realize they were a couple before nodding at them? He would never believe him if he said that he hadn’t realized they were holding hands.

His father startles him, violently punching the button for the second floor with his stubby finger, not asking what floor the other two were going to. The one with the warm smile who had spoken to Frank seems to sense the tension in the air and simply leans over and hits the button for the third floor himself. This action means his chest is closer to Frank’s, every molecule of space between the man’s shoulder and his own not enough to separate himself from the insinuation his father would make about him being willing to share space with a gay man.

Closing his eyes for a moment as the elevator jolts before beginning to move, he takes as deep a breath as possible and attempts to school his expression and posture into being as straight as possible. He had done it for his whole life, one elevator ride right before his first taste of freedom was not going to make it come crashing down.

But as fear crawls up his throat, he also feels joy building up inside him. The first gay couple he had ever seen, within reach of him. This school is safe, and Frank felt like he could cry at the realization. Not only was this space going to be free of his parents and those he left behind, but it was a space that he can be free in, for the first time in his life. A place that he can be seen as himself, not some forced caricature of a straight man, not the role he had been forced to play for so long. He could stand to play the part just a little bit longer, if it meant he could feel that freedom for himself.

His eyes drift towards their hands once again; the pale fingers against warmer tones making him wonder what it would feel like to hold another man’s hand. Would it be larger than his own, rougher at the fingertips and calloused from work- or would it be soft and strong and wrap confidently around the palm of his hand? He wanted to know.

He saw the pale hand grip stronger for a moment before relaxing and Frank was gripping the handle of his suitcase in a return gesture before realizing what he was doing. It felt like a trance, he knew he shouldn’t be looking but he couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes away from their intertwined fingers. If he wanted it enough, does that mean he could start to feel the press of fingertips into the back of his hand? If he looked long enough would he be able to will into existence the warmth of the grasp, the casual affection and intimacy of such a gesture? The confidence and pride?

The door chimes and begins to slide open and Frank tears his gaze away. He keeps his eyes to the floor and pulls his suitcase forward, feeling his heart hurt the longer he couldn’t look at their gentle hands. His father steps forward too, after a moment, but then pauses in the doorway.

“Stay away from these fucking faggots, son,” he grunts, malice lacing each word. Frank shivers, like ice is freezing his veins and covering the warmth he’d felt while looking at their easy affection. There is a moment where he can’t find the air to respond, feeling the weight of their eyes on the back of his head. His father had been having a bad day and now he was angry, he couldn’t risk him suspecting anything if he didn’t respond in a convincing manner. He was so close to finally being safe.

“Disgusting,” Frank muttered. He hears a sharp intake of breath behind him, and he feels it echo through his chest, settling cold and low in his stomach like lead.

Forcing himself into motion, he tries to ignore the way his heart bleeds. Like sharp needles into the cracks of his armor- the weight of their stares staying on him even as the doors close and take them away. He knew how he looked and he knew that in that moment he had become everything he hated. He was only grateful that they had each other and hopefully he could apologize for his father after he had left. Or, maybe he would just ignore and avoid them. It wasn’t like that would be any different than before. _The only person I need is myself_ , he thought. That’s how it always has been and how it always will be.

Reaching his door, his father stops and slides the key into the latch to unlock it before turning the handle and pushing. It didn't budge. With a grunt of anger, he slams his boot into the door and the door swings open, hitting the inside wall so hard that the impact of the knob hurt Frank's ears. He flinches. His father stands in front of the open doorway and Frank realizes abruptly that he was waiting for him to enter first. He tugs the handle of his suitcase and slips past his father into his new place. He turns to look at his father, expecting him to walk in after him, but he just stands there.

"Call your mother so I don't have to," he says shortly, tossing the keys onto the floor just inside the doorway. Narrowing his eyes at Frank, he feels a surge of panic as he waits for the questions about the men in the elevator to come. Instead, his father makes a noise of disgust and shakes his head. He turns to leave, not stopping to look at Frank once or to say goodbye to his only child. He could pretend that Frank meant nothing with ease, a practiced art so familiar that Frank sometimes wondered if he was even pretending anymore.

Frank watches until the elevator doors closed behind his father- to be safe- before letting out a whoop of excitement and jumping into the air, ignoring the old sting of cold regard. _Freedom_. He grabs the keys off of the stained carpet and closes the door, hearing it latch with a satisfying click. It felt like the click signified a new him, a new life. Something beyond the battered hallways of his highschool and the four stifling walls of his family house; something more just for him to belong and believe in. He doesn’t need anyone else, he has everything and everyone he could ever want at his fingertips in this very room. Without other people he would never have to worry about acceptance or their judging eyes. He tries and fails to get the intertwined fingers out of his mind, the gentle reassurance of a squeeze singed into the backs of his eyelids.

He lets out a sigh and turns to take a long look at his new home. The old stained carpet with the edges coming up in the corners. The cream white walls with scuff marks and bits of paint flaking off. The single shitty twin bed on a creaky looking metal frame shoved against the wall, opposing the sink that had a few cabinets and a mini-fridge attached. A standing closet with one of the doors hanging open, almost blocking the doorway to the tiny bathroom.

He _loves_ it. With every single stain and mysterious mark in his new studio, it feels like another tiny story unfolding before his eyes and he couldn’t wait to add stories of his own.

After he gets settled, clothes put away and sheets tight on the bed, he pulls out the orientation pamphlets to look them over before the coming morning. The school’s extracurriculars splashed over the pamphlet in bright colors, he saw lists of all the ways they were going to make his life better for the next 4 years on every page. It seemed cheesy, but Frank is hoping that they are right. He flips through the glossy pages, fingers trailing over grins on posed figures, their forced enthusiasm still somehow infectious through the page. Maybe it is just the rush of freedom talking, but he still feels like this is the beginning of something special.

He keeps turning back to the page that had the Pride Center listed. He felt almost as though he wasn’t meant to be looking, like disapproving eyes would appear through the wall and shout “surprise!”- like it was all a joke and he isn’t actually allowed to be free. But nobody ever appears, and Frank forces himself to let his fingertips trace the outlines of colorful flags printed into the page. He doesn’t know what most of them even mean, having only heard references to people like him used as insults, and he doubts that anyone would take kindly to him referring to them as slurs. He just has to learn.

That night as Frank lay in bed, he grins while staring at the ceiling, still feeling high on the idea of being free. He could do anything he wanted; lay around naked, sing loudly at any hour- well maybe not that, his neighbors would probably mind- and hold hands with whomever he pleased. At the thought of holding hands, he takes a deep breath- holding it and shutting his eyes to let himself visualize the soft sight he held so close. Something burns deep in Frank’s chest, and he ignores the prickling at the backs of his eyes. He fell asleep twisted and clutching at his blankets like he was holding someone against his chest, his hand twitching softly in his sleep as his dreams were filled with the warm smiles and soft imagined touches of a hand held in his own.

-

Mikey slips his hand out of Ray’s grasp as the elevator doors close. He shoves his hands into his pockets and tries to ignore the feeling of being dirty clawing its way up from his stomach, dark and consuming. Ray huffs out a breath and bumps his shoulder against Mikey’s in the way he always did when he wanted to quietly show him support. Mikey appreciates that, but his thoughts are turning more angry rather than upset by the moment. As the elevator chimes on their floor Mikey takes his hands out of his pockets to grab Ray, and drags him into his place so they wouldn’t be overheard. He shuts the door and turns to a concerned-looking Ray.

“You alright?” Ray prods. He looks upset.

“He can’t stay,” Mikey seethes.

“I can’t say I exactly want him to,” Ray sighs, turning to go sit on the couch. Mikey breathes and follows him.

“You remember what we did before?” Mikey asks, smiling slightly at the memory.

“You mean when you almost gave old man Phillip a heart attack,” Ray shakes his head.

“He called Gerard a slur, Ray,” he stood up and started preparing his supplies. Ray knew that they had to protect Gerard, he’d been there for most of it.

“Yeah, alright, let’s get started.”

-

Gerard sits on the floor in the fading light of the evening, twirling his knife between his fingers and watching the setting sun fall across the curving lines of ink in front of him. They pondered the meaning in the story laid out on each page, the old lines of lore engraved into his being and each character an old friend in his heart. Only a few years ago he was an entirely different person. To think that he would be sitting here today, the knowledge of his past and who they have become weighing on him as he considers the light reflecting off of the edges of the knife. He just hopes it was all worth it, that he will be worthy in the end.

-

Fingers running across a cool headstone, the weight of guilt lifted slightly with the cover of night. A name engraved far too young, fresh flowers placed on the grave to ask for forgiveness by a person too afraid to speak- to take responsibility for their actions. The moon is the only one watching them tonight. The stars are their company. They bear the knowledge of their crimes and watch as the figure sinks to their knees in the soft dirt of the graveyard, crying and begging for absolvement. The bones laugh at them as their cries cease. Those buried know the sins committed by the living, and find humor in cowardly nature. This was not the first time they had seen this pitiful figure, and it wouldn’t be the last. Always at the same headstone, always begging for forgiveness from her:

_Elizabeth Green._


	2. A Haunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikey and Ray begin their plan to get rid of Frank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this little filler chapter before a big boy coming next one!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of an almost heart attack, mentions of slurs but no actual slurs.

It’s the day after the incident in the elevator. Mikey watches as Ray puzzles over a sheet of notebook paper, his ideas lining the page. He looks down to the layout of the building spread out in front of him. Back when they first became best friends, they worked together to snag a copy of the blueprints for the whole place, making it much easier to plan their pranks and missions. It wasn’t exactly legal but the map is very helpful. Tracing his fingers tracing over the scribbled notes from the last year, the sentimentality briefly overtook him. Little words scrawled in the margins to remind himself which connections were difficult to fit through, which sections of vent that are so disgustingly dirty that he refuses to pass through them, and mentions of the best places for him to jump out of to scare Gerard. Definitely the highlights of his first year of college, even though he wasn’t living in the building at that point.

Ray starts to mutter furiously so Mikey leans his head on the other’s shoulder. He loves the casual intimacy of his best friend, the way they both fit together easily and plan the most ridiculous things at strange hours of the night. He loves watching him circle different scribbled thoughts with his pencil, his brilliant mind working furiously with plans for a ghost and fright. He feels as though he could spend all day feeling him shift under his head and hearing him speak.

“Got it!” Ray stops muttering and straightens, accidentally making Mikey fall off of his shoulder, apologizing and shoving the page into his face. Mikey stares for a moment. Even knowing Ray better than himself did not help him decipher the mess of words in front of him.

“Explain,” Mikey demands. Ray shifts, a sly grin making its way onto his face.

“So, you remember what we did to old man Phillips?” Mikey nods. “Essentially we’re going to be doing the same thing, but since this new guy lives in a studio-” they had snooped around later that evening to find out where he lives “-we have to work with a lot less space.” Ray pauses dramatically.

“How much haunting can we do in one room?” Mikey asks the question Ray was obviously begging him to ask. It’s not that he didn’t believe in Ray’s abilities for master plans, he just couldn’t really picture how they were going to pull this off.

“He has nowhere to run.” Ray grins, Mikey thinks back to the moment in the elevator when he felt like a bug being roasted under a microscope by cruel and judgmental scientists, and he grins back. He can’t wait to see the back of this guy’s head as he crawls away in fear.

-

Sliding silently along the vent shaft, Mikey can see snippets of other people’s lives as he passes above their heads. The granny two doors down who gifted him cookies the first week he was here, the couple who was always throwing parties, the person who seemed to know everyone. Ray’s plan is not just to protect Gerard but protect the whole building from some bigoted asshole that they just don’t need. Mikey is more than happy to enact the plan and get some sweet revenge.

“Kobra Kid, what’s your location? Over.” Mikey’s earpiece crackles as Ray’s voice comes through. The earpieces were gifts from Gerard last Christmas, his way of supporting the chaos that Ray and Mikey wreaked on the building. Gerard had one too, they had come cheaper in a pack of four, but he rarely used it. They said they preferred to see the aftermath and hear the stories from the two of them, especially during finals season when he had endless assignments to complete.

“Coming in for the kill Jet Star. Over.” Panting slightly, he stops in the section that they had marked on the map earlier, hoping it was the right place. Looking down he can see a tiny and dirty studio and a figure sprawled across the mattress in the corner. Bingo. “Target acquired. Over.”

“Perfect. Okay, Kid I’m sending the package to your receiver now. Over.” Mikey felt his ass vibrate slightly with the message from Ray. He really needed to remember to turn off vibrate on future missions. Glancing down at the target below him, he was relieved to see that the target was still asleep, unaware of the impending doom in the vents above him. 

Mikey grins and reaches into his back pocket, grabbing his phone and opening it to the audio files that Ray sent over. See, convincing people that they are being haunted by ghosts isn’t really that hard. All it took before was some spooky noises for a few days and it sent the old man packing, never mind the almost heart attack. If someone is going to have the audacity to say slurs to his brother, then it’s their fault if their heart can’t handle being spooked by a ghost. Ray and Mikey had never actually told Gerard what they did, but his brother sent them many suspicious looks when he heard the news that old man Phillips was moving. He never actually asked though, so they simply never revealed what they did. Plus, legally, it’s safer if less people know they almost made an old man’s heart give out. 

Mikey refocuses on the task in front of him, tapping on the screen to bring up the first clip. The figure below is sound asleep so he figures he should start with a bang. The audio plays and a harrowing scream rings in Mikey’s ears. The guy just snorts in his sleep and begins to snore, turning over to burrow farther into his blankets. Determined and slightly annoyed at the lack of response, he continues and brings up a different sound.

“No please I don’t want to!” This audio is from a collection of this young boy, Mikey’s favorite to use together to keep an ongoing ghost in the haunting. This causes the guy to stir. Absently, he’s irritated that a guy this pretty is such an asshole.

“Hello?” The man says. He looks tense, good. Mikey prepares another audio. This one is just some vague crying and screaming. The man sits up in bed and rubs at his eyes, looking wildly around his tiny place.

“Uh, hi? My name’s Frank, can I help you?” The guy, Frank, looks earnest as he says this, and Mikey feels a rush of anger. He’s just some homophobe who’s supposed to fear a ghost, damnit.

“I’m going to hurt you,” the young boy says on the clip. This was a dramatic escalation from the previous clips, but he’s getting tired of watching this Frank guy shrug off his haunting. Frank jolts, and then seems to consider something before folding his hands on his lap.

“There’s no reason to do that, I respect ghosts and I’m sure we can get along just fine. Now I have orientation in the morning, so I really need to sleep, but it’s an honor to meet you. I hope we can be friends.” Frank smiles brightly and then flops down and snuggles back under his blankets.

Mikey stares. There’s no way. This Frank guy just accepted he was being haunted and then proposed friendship all in the space of a few minutes. Truly unbelievable. He has never felt more affronted and confused in his entire fucking life. He pulls up different audio files, switching between comparing the qualities and descriptions and staring down at Frank.

“Uh Kobra Kid? It’s been thirty minutes, I’m getting a bit concerned, you usually refuse to stay in the tubes this long. Over.” Mikey shakes himself, realizing that he had just been staring at Frank for an embarrassingly long time, trying desperately to understand what just happened. He clears his throat softly.

“I’m good Star, heading back now. We need a new plan. Over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Next update should be soon, I'm super excited and I hope you are too.


	3. Rooftops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank meets someone on the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to the chapter that inspired this entire fic. Grab a cup of tea and some tissues folks, this is an emotional one.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of past minor character death, (non-explicit) insinuation of a hate crime, mentions of past homophobia, and mentions of homophobic family.

Gazing up at the stars above him, Frank feels the smooth surface of the brochures in his hands and wonders at how he got here. The rooftop of the parking garage is cold and rough under his legs, yet it brings a sort of grounding comfort as it forces him to stay in the moment. Today had been the first day of orientation and the first real day he got to see for himself the type of people he’s going to go to school with for the next four years. They visited the Pride center earlier and Frank had thought he was going to vibrate out of his skin with excitement and fear. Everyone seemed so kind and accepting, even if many were confused with the terms, so he had grabbed some brochures from the center when no one was looking to try to understand more about the community he wants so desperately to be part of.

He spreads the brochures out on the asphalt in front of him. The more he looks at the brochures the less any of it makes sense. More forced smiles on each page and bright colors but no actual explanations. What even are the point of these if they don’t actually explain anything? He doesn’t know if he can bring himself to talk to anyone else until he has a better grasp of what the hell he is and how to approach other people. The idea of repeating the incident yesterday, the soft gesture of affection broken by his words, the weight of their disapproval and discomfort was something he absolutely never wanted to repeat. Maybe he’s just too fucked up for other people to deal with. They’re probably better off without him. He looks back up to the stars and ponders it for a moment. He only seems to bring hurt or disappointment. Has anyone ever been proud of him? He can’t remember the last time someone has told him that they’re proud of him. It makes sense, not much to be proud of. He vaguely remembers that day in the kitchen when his mom was baking cookies with him. The last time he could remember her laughing. She had instructed him how to crack eggs into the mix and when he got both eggs cleanly into the bowl, he had looked to her for approval. He remembers how bright her smile was and how she had picked him up and twirled him around before giving him a big hug. The warmth of the memory makes the breeze on the cold rooftop seem sharper. In that moment, she had whispered into his hair how proud she was that he was growing into such a capable boy. A part of him would always miss that day. He can’t seem to do anything to get her approval anymore. He may have gotten a scholarship to this college but that doesn’t really seem to mean anything. He needed it to be able to attend so he got one. Nobody had been proud of him for that so obviously it was nothing to be proud of.

He hears a sound coming from the stairwell that shakes him from his thoughts. Somebody is coming up the steps. It might be security to tell him to leave, but he doubts it from the sound of the footsteps; not haughty enough. He debates getting up before settling on just waiting to see who’s coming up, he was here first anyways.

A man- fuck! He just learned he shouldn’t assume those things- A _person_ steps out onto the roof, letting the door fall shut behind them. They have shaggy black hair and jeans with a jacket combo, carrying a sketchbook and a blanket in their arms. They stop when they catch sight of Frank, hesitation clear on their features. He waits for the stranger to decide. After a few long moments of obvious internal debate, curiosity seems to win out and the stranger makes their way over to Frank. He figures he might as well be friendly as they seem like the sort of person he would like, ink marks on their face and band patches on their jacket.

“Hey, I’m Frank,” he pauses a moment as he remembers his orientation leader’s instructions from earlier that day, “uh, he/him.” Introducing himself with pronouns still felt alien but he really wants to make himself a better person, and this seems like a good place to start. At his words, the stranger seems shocked for a moment before grinning widely, showing small and sharp looking teeth.

“Gerard, he/they,” he replies.

Frank stops. He has no idea what that means. How do you even use two different pronouns? Does that mean for singular he should say he/him but for plural use they/them? He’s never even tried to use they/them pronouns out loud before. He’s beginning to panic a bit as he realizes he has absolutely no clue how to handle this. He shouldn’t have said anything, he’s going to mess it up and then Gerard is going to hate him, and they’ve barely even spoken a few words.

Gerard chuckles and Frank freezes and looks back at them, realizing he had just frozen like a deer in headlights after he introduced himself. He is looking down at the brochures spread in front of Frank, eyes scanning the different headers with barely concealed amusement. Frank flushes, knowing that his new acquaintance can see the reason for his confusion spread out in front of him like a great big billboard screaming his naivety and idiocy. Expecting Gerard to keep laughing and just leave, his confusion only grows as they shuffle over and plop down next to him, setting the blanket and sketchbook carefully aside.

“Those brochures are pretty shit huh?” Gerard asks softly, amusement still shining in his eyes, he blinks off into the distance behind Frank’s head for a moment before continuing. “You have no clue what I mean by he/they, do you?”

He hasn’t phrased it as a question, but Frank nods anyways, still feeling horribly exposed and like Gerard was just going to laugh at him and walk away.

“That’s alright, uh, let me try to explain.” Gerard pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath before looking up, the stars twinkling and reflecting in his eyes. “So, think of it like this, I just really really hate being put in tiny little labeled boxes. Like the world is saying I’m only allowed to be one exact shape, which is just fucking stupid, so I’ve always felt more comfortable using both sets of pronouns. It just fits better and lets me feel like I can breathe and be my own goddamned gender.” They look away from the stars and into Frank’s eyes and he can feel himself being examined. He tears his focus away, not feeling comfortable with the eye contact, and stares down at the scuffed outline of Gerard’s boots.

“So, you’re sort of, opening the box?” He asked quietly. He barely knows them and yet he already knows he wants their approval. They’re being so kind for no reason and the least he can do is really try to understand what they’re trying to teach him. Gerard grins again at his words before thinking a moment.

“More like removing the box entirely, like what box, I don’t need a box!” He says, gesticulating wildly and turning to look proudly at Frank.

“Okay,” he says slowly, still turning over the idea in his head, “but how do I use two different sets?”

“However you like really, since I’m comfortable with both you could stick with one, but I really like it when people switch between them.” Gerard smiles so easily and openly at Frank, like he felt as if they were already old friends. Frank doesn’t know about that but there is definitely something about Gerard that makes him trust him deeply already. The thought terrifies him as he purposely avoids trusting people, as it will only end in regret- but he can’t seem to make himself stop.

“Um, I’ve never said they/them pronouns aloud before,” he cringes, expecting Gerard to be disappointed in him for that.

“Yes, you have!” Gerard looks gleeful and Frank distantly realizes that they took great joy in his confusion.

“Huh?”

“What do you say when a package gets delivered but you don’t know the gender of the deliverer?” He says, looking more and more excited with each word.

“Uh,” he feels more confused than he ever has in his life, even topping the incident when his clothes vanished from the locker room, though that had quickly turned to anger and embarrassment.

“You say “they delivered a package”!” Gerard exclaims, waving his hands around more. Frank stops and takes a second to think it over. They’re right; he’s used those pronouns a lot and he just didn’t realize it before.

“Alright, I think I get it a bit now, but I’m still terrified I’m going to mess it up,” he admits, shrinking back a bit with shock as he never likes admitting his own feelings.

Frank looks down to his hands, flexing his fingers and watching each digit move while trying to get his bearings. The night suddenly seemed too large, like it was going to reach out an inky black hand and choke the breath from Frank’s chest. Somehow, he is here, the gravel of the rooftop grinding through the base of his thighs and the warmth of another near his side. Why is Gerard being so kind to him? What has he ever done to deserve this kindness? An aching feeling wraps itself around his heart and reaches down through his toes. The ache cries in longing, reaching, and grasping to connect with another. Knowing it’s a bad idea doesn’t change the hurt in his chest when he realizes just how badly he wants to reach out and trust.

“I’m not as good at this as she was,” Gerard mutters under his breath, and it breaks Frank from his trance.

“She?” He asks, knowing it’s not really his business. But Gerard has been more than kind to him tonight so if he can help him in any way then he wants to know. They look at him then, their eyes filled with this deep and aching sadness that is stronger than anything Frank has ever seen before, older than his years. Gerard blinks and shakes his head gently before looking back up to the stars.

“Her name was Elizabeth Green, Liz, and she did the same thing for me as I’m trying to do for you now. She meant the world to me.” Frank’s chest grips with anxiety and dread. They exhale raggedly and look down to the ground, running a hand roughly through their hair, tugging at the ends. “She died 5 years ago.”

Frank’s heart seizes and he realizes that in such a short time he already cares about Gerard. They turn to look at him again, smiling a sad and wistful smile before looking back up to the night sky. He hesitates for a moment; how could he comfort someone he barely knows in the face of such a tragedy he knows nothing about? The air stretches between them, lengthening them from each other as he thinks carefully about his next actions.

He decides finally, gingerly reaches his hand out, resting it on Gerard’s knee. They keep looking to the stars but seem to relax by just a fraction, and after a moment, they rest their hand on top of his. Frank usually hates touch, but this was his choice. Beyond that, for some reason, he doesn’t mind this. He thinks for a moment, considering.

“I know I don’t know what she did for you, how much she meant to you, but,” he tightens his hand that isn’t on Gerard’s knee into a fist, digging his fingernails into his palm, “you’ve already changed my life just by being here, so I bet she’s proud of you.” He says his words quietly, unsure of himself, and worries that he’s crossing some invisible boundary by speaking about a lost loved one in such a way. Then Gerard is looking at him in shock again, but it’s softer this time and he’s smiling while blinking away tears. Frank looks away in respect and just tightens his grip on Gerard’s knee. Their hand tightens over his in response.

Both stay silent for a long time after that. Frank wonders what he can say in this silence. Obviously, that hadn’t been easy for Gerard to say; he was being trusted by someone he barely knows. Yet, instead of that thought terrifying him, it gives him courage to say what he has never been able to admit. He wants to bridge the gap and give back that trust. Mere minutes ago, he had been thinking about how dangerous it was to trust others. It’s mind-blowing to think about how much can change in a few minutes; Trust is a fickle thing and yet Gerard earned it quickly through his generosity and open honesty.

Pulling his hand gently from under Gerard's, he clasps his together in his lap. Gerard turns to him, but he shakes his head slightly. A motion to wait. He’s gathering his courage and he’s frightened to death.

Inhale. Exhale.

“The first time I heard the word it was used as an insult,” his voice shakes, “my father glaring at a couple across the street and spitting it like a curse. I was so young, and I didn’t ask what it meant because from how he said it I knew it meant something bad. Something broken.” Gerard shifts again in his peripheral, but he doesn’t look up. He waits a moment before continuing. “In that town people like that weren’t allowed. I remember one kid who- he admitted to it, to the whole school- and then he never came back.” His eyes are beginning to sting, but he ignores it and pushes forward, knowing that he may never get the courage to do this again.

“I’ve never admitted this to anyone, you have to understand. I don’t know why I trust you, but you trusted me, and I do trust you and that’s terrifying. I can’t- I haven’t even owned up to this shit in my own reflection.” He’s clutching his hands so tightly together that he can feel deep aches settling beneath his fingertips. It comforts him, grounds him enough to take this final leap. It feels as though the ground is going to open under him in a pit of pure terror and his lips form his next words.

“I’m gay.”

Frank finally looks up into Gerard’s eyes, trying desperately not to cry. They’re looking at him with the softest expression he has ever seen, grinning gently in the light from the stars.

“Come here.” Gerard opens his arms to him, and Frank doesn’t let himself think about it, just barrels forward and grips onto their jacket as their arms wrap around him. He can feel them bring one hand to the back of his head, holding him securely against their chest. They’re so warm and he hadn’t realized how cold he was from sitting for so long on the rooftop. His heart is racing. The pure fear from the admission battling the relief of the truth and yet while he’s being held like this everything feels like it’s going to be okay. He feels safe.

“I’m so, so proud of you.” Gerard whispers into his hair, clutching him tighter. Those words punch straight through every wall Frank has left and he stops resisting it and lets the tears fall down his face. Flashes of his mother’s face all those years ago, her lifting him up and telling him that she’s proud, spin through his mind. His father the day before catching his gaze resting on the entwined hands, and the disappointment in his eyes before he had walked away. He grips his fingers just that much harder into Gerard’s jacket and lets out a quiet, shaky breath.

Gerard shifts and takes one of his hands away for a moment, Frank is about to move away but before he can, a soft material is settling around his shoulders. The blanket that they had brought onto the roof. Gerard had wrapped it around them both to shield them from just a bit of the cold, bringing their arms back around Frank. As they sit curled together on a freezing rooftop in the middle of fall, he feels pride in himself for the first time in a long time. He did it, he finally did it.

Everything is going to be _okay._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
